The Human Complex
by Bamimilyt6
Summary: When countries die, they are born again as humans. They don't know about their past as nations. There is a male teenager, however, who suddenly starts having strange dreams and visions. Gilbert Beilschmidt suddenly starts to remember his past as the personification of Prussia. Rated for mild swearing. Minor PruCan. ON HIATUS INDEFINITELY.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! This is my first multi-chapter Hetalia fan fiction, so I hope you enjoy! I apologize in advance if I mess up foreign languages, character's personalities, and historical events.**

 **~Emily Believes**

* * *

 _The scenes seemed to flash by so quickly, yet he could tell exactly what was going on in them. The sensation was strange. It was as if he was half aware that he was dreaming._

 _First, it showed a battlefield of some sort. He was surrounded by dead military men from hundreds of years ago. One, he noted subconsciously, had a Prussian flag draped over him. How he identified the flag of a nation he'd hardly heard about, he didn't know. In front of him was a man with blonde hair that was merely inches above his shoulders. He had a smirk plastered on his face, but his eyes contradicted it, as they were filled with regret._

" _I know you're not like this France!" he heard himself exclaim but… with a German accent? It felt like it took all his strength to simply speak. "Don't listen to your boss! Napoleon's a fucking nut job!"_

 _The other man, seemingly France (why would you name your kid after a country?), gave a small sigh. The smirk was wiped from his face as he muttered the words,_ "Vous ne comprenez pas _._ " _The translation of the French phrase was on the tip of his tongue, but the scene changed far before he could come close to an answer._

 _The battlefield morphed into a small mansion. Many decorations in and outside the house were shown to have the mighty Prussian Eagle on them. He trudged inside the mansion, clearly wounded from a battle of sorts. Rather quickly, a little boy with blonde hair and blue eyes came running to his aid. He looked utterly horrified at the injuries._

" _Bruder! You look horrible!" he exclaimed, quickly running off once more for bandages. He too had a German accent._

 _Before he could place a name to the little boy, the scene changed a final time. This time, he could tell he wasn't actually present in the scene. There was a simple cross wedged in the ground, acting as a tombstone for whoever died. Everything was bleak. The skies were full of dull, grey clouds, while the grass below was barely alive. He turned slightly to see the Frenchman from earlier accompanied by a Hispanic man near the cross. The latter seemed to be muttering a prayer of sorts in fluent Spanish._

 _He only had a split second to register the sorrowful yellow bird perched on the cross._

"Gilbert! Wake up! You are _not_ going to be late for school _again_!" he heard his mother yell, irritated. Groggily, he sat up in his bed. He couldn't help but at least try to piece together what the hell that dream meant. Even after awaking, he could still recall the entire sequence of scenes without difficulty. Who was that French guy, and the little boy? They seemed so familiar, but he had never seen them before in his life!

Gilbert Beilschmidt was an American teenager with obvious German origins. Both of his parents could speak fluent German and wished for him to be able to do the same, thus he took German in school.

School was something Gilbert didn't particularly care for. He (somehow) managed to get a passing C- in nearly every class, with the others having a fair mixture of Ds and Fs. His parents has learned to accept that if he came home without having detention, it was a miracle.

" _Gilbert_! The bus will be here any minute!"

"I'm coming; I'm coming!" he yelled back. Hastily, he scrambled out of bed, throwing on the first pair of clothes he found lying on the wood floor. He shoved his backpack strap onto his shoulder while running out of his room.

He nearly fell down the stairs in his haste, but he managed to make it into the living room without his mother screeching in his ear. Just as he was about to enter the kitchen for some sort of breakfast food, he heard the bus jolt to a stop in front of his house. He jerked his head backwards and let out a small groan. Either he got to school on time with no breakfast, or he was late on a full stomach. There was no in between.

Knowing his mom would yell at him if he didn't, Gilbert ran towards the front door while bidding goodbye to those in the house. He ran on his paved driveway and jumped onto the bus just in time. Everyone glanced at him with confused looks, but he simply just brushed it off. The pigment of his skin, hair, and eyes (or lack of thereof, rather) had earned him enough stares over the years. He proceeded to make his way to the back of the bus, throwing himself down into a seat next to another boy with dark brown hair and emerald green eyes. For some reason, he couldn't help but notice how the Hispanic man from his dream looked strikingly similar to his best friend Alex.

Alex gave Gilbert the same puzzled look as everyone else did upon noticing a golden bird rested on top of his albino friend's head. "Dude, why is there a bird on your head?" Alex asked bluntly. The bus lurched forward.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, gingerly lifting his hand to the top of his head. His eyes widened as he came into contact with feathers. He gently picked up the bird and held it in front of him. The bird was the exact same one from the end of his dream. It chirped happily, perching itself onto Gilbert's finger. "What the hell…?" he muttered.

Nothing was adding up. How on earth could this just be a coincidence? It was the _exact_ bird from his dream. He didn't know what it meant or how the hell it happened; all he knew was that it didn't make sense.

* * *

The bird kept following Gilbert all day. He couldn't get rid of it! Teachers and other staff constantly tried to swat it outside countless times, but it always found its way back into the school. It always found its way back to Gilbert. Eventually, he had given up on trying to rid of it and continued suffering through another day at school… with the bird on his head.

He slammed his locker closed before making his way to his seventh period class: World History, the last class of the day. Then he could _finally_ go home. He walked into the World History room, sitting boredly in his seat in the back of the class. Out of all his horrible grades throughout that year, his in this class was by far the worse. It would take some sort of miracle for him to actually pass it.

Before he knew it, the bell had rung. Gilbert was already zoning out, slouching in his chair. He didn't care in the slightest what some guys in funny hats did decades ago.

The World History teacher, Mr. Matthew Petterson, a rather energetic middle-aged man, began his lesson almost immediately after the bell had stopped ringing. He walked up to the wipe board, grabbing a marker. On the board he wrote a single date.

 _ **September 20, 1792**_

Turning on his heel, the man looked at the rather inattentive class. "September 20, 1792. Does anyone know what happened on that day?" he asked.

The usual few students (a.k.a. the history nerds) eagerly raised their hands, but Mr. Petterson was looking for someone new to answer his questions for once, and he noticed that Gilbert Beilschmidt had sat up in his chair.

The albino stared at the wipe board, narrowing his eyes slightly. That date. He remembered that date. He didn't know how, but he did.

 _The Frenchman..._

It was almost as if he had lived through it before… but he was seventeen! How on earth could he have been alive in the eighteenth century?

 _The Prussian Flag draped over the fallen soldier._

He didn't know what was happening. How did he know what happened on that day? He didn't even know what happened _last_ September 20th. He silently panicked.

" _Don't listen to your boss! Napoleon's a fucking nut job!"_

"The Battle of Valmy," he said rather quietly, because he himself was unsure how he knew the answer. Mr. Petterson raised his eyebrows. Gilbert, a disinterested failing student in his class, answered the question correctly. He also used this opportunity to avoid asking about the bird the resided atop his head.

"And do you know what the Battle of Valmy was, Mr. Beilschmidt?" Mr. Petterson asked.

Gilbert looked around hesitantly. Everyone was staring at him. He knew. He knew crystal clear. "France's first major victory in the Revolutionary Wars that came after the French Revolution." This surprised the teacher even more, as well as the other students. He gestured for him to continue, utterly surprised at the correct answers he was giving. "It was Prussian army against the French army. Prussian troops were orders by the Duke of Brunswick to try and march on Paris. French generals obviously stopped that from happening in a small town Valmy." At this point, he felt like he was just reciting his history textbook. He obviously already knew the information (somehow), and he felt like he had known it for a long time, though he knew he was learning it just as the words were coming out of his mouth. "After the battle, the National Convention actually declared the end of the monarchy in France and established the First French Republic."

Mr. Petterson tried to hide his shock, but it was extremely evident. "C-Correct, Mr. Beilschmidt. All of it. Keep that up and you may find yourself not having an F- on your report card," he stammered out.

He continued to write down the dates of the Napoleonic Wars, dates in which Gilbert seemed to remember. He had vague recollections of battlefields and many different people. The Frenchman frequently appeared, as well as a tall blonde with a pale-colored scarf, an aristocratic man with glasses and a mole to the left of his mouth, and a teenage boy in a black cloak that looked almost exactly like the little boy from his dream. It was all too confusing.

Before he knew it, the sound of the bell filled the room. School was finally over. He grabbed his books, silently thanking God for the weekends, and he was about to leave the room when…

"Mr. Beilschmidt, may I talk to you for a second?"

Letting out an inaudible groan, he turned around and walked up to Mr. Petterson's desk. He knew what was coming. "Alright, how many hours this time?" Gilbert asked instinctively, until he noticed that instead of a disapproving frown, his teacher sported a proud grin.

"I'm glad to say that this time, _Gilbert_ , you aren't getting detention. I just wanted to tell you I'm thoroughly astounded by your performance in class today. It's as if you lived through the Napoleonic Wars!" the middle-aged man replied gleefully. Gilbert furrowed his eyebrows slightly at that last statement, because though it was a simile, it seemed to make sense. Mr. Petterson, however, didn't seem to notice this. "If you always acted like this, you wouldn't be failing. Keep this up, you may find yourself passing my class this year." He gave a farewell nod. "Have a good weekend, Gilbert."

As he walked out of the classroom, Gilbert began to wonder if that was possible, living through the Napoleonic Wars. All day he couldn't keep that weird dream out of his head; it just kept popping up, not to mention he had a new undesired friend. The bird rested happily on his head as he prepared to go home, like it had just found someone it had been searching for for years on end.

"Dude, Gil, you were spouting out answers left and right during history!" Alex said as he and Gilbert boarded the bus. They sat down in their usual seats near the back. "Are you some sort of secret history nerd or something?"

Gilbert laughed at the accusation. "Yeah, _right_. Trust me, I don't even know how I knew those things," he replied. The bird seemed to chirp in agreement.

Alex looked unconvinced. "So you could just randomly recite the what happened on all those dates in the Napoleonic Wars without knowing you knew them?" he asked. The bus starting its journey away from the high school.

"Well I _am_ pretty awesome," he said jokingly. Again, the bird chirped.

Alex shook his head, simply wondering about the eventful seventh period he just had. Gil knowing and answering all of those questions correctly was definitely out of character, but he sounded so natural in giving them. They rolled off his tongue like he was telling a story.

What was going on?


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who's found this story interesting so far! :D I hope you continue to find it enjoyable.  
Also: don't expect me to continue updating this often. Writing 1,500-2,000 word chapters all the time is hard x3**

 **~Emily Believes**

* * *

A woman with braided raven hair sat on the living room couch, reading. Her blue eyes scanned the words of the book To Kill A Mockingbird. She, Abigail Beilschmidt, was smiling, for her son's world history teacher called to inform her on his excellent performance in class.

Abigail loved her son to death, but he wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to academics. Sure, he managed to speak German fairly well and was an excellent flutist, but his grades were suffering. The call from Mr. Petterson was nothing short of a miracle to her.

All of the sudden, she heard the front door creek open, seeing her son entering the house. This caused her smile to grow wider; he didn't have detention today. Maybe he was finally pulling his act together.

Gilbert tried to quickly make his way upstairs to his room, but the sounds of his mother yelling, "Wait right there, mister!" made him stop his tracks, cursing under his breath. He turned around to face his mother, who, to his surprise, didn't look angry. In fact, she actually looked happy… proud, even. "Mr. Petterson called. He told me about your performance today in his class. He said it was as if you have lived through the Napoleonic Wa-"

She cut herself off upon noticing the canary that rested on her son's head. She furrowed her eyebrows. "Gilbert," she said slowly, "why is there a canary on your head?"

He lazily raised his eyebrows, looking almost unaffected by the question. "Oh, so that's what kind of bird it is…" He glanced over at his annoyed mother, realizing he hadn't answered her question. "Well… this thing's been following me all day. Can't get rid of it. Teachers tried all day."

Abigail sighed, glaring at the canary. "Maybe it'll leave during the night," she suggested hopefully, walking back down the stairs.

Gilbert quickly ran up to the second floor and into his room. He slammed the door, throwing his backpack on the ground in the process. Letting out a small groan, he plopped down on his bed. The bird left his head and perched itself on Gilbert's hand.

He stared it for a second. "Do _you_ know what's going on?" he asked the bird rhetorically, sighing afterwards. _I'm going insane_ , he thought. "Course you don't," he muttered, "you're just a bird who probably thinks my hair is your nest something!"

At that, he saw the bird almost defensively fly over to his phone on the nightstand, where he had left it in his haste that morning. It gestured with his head for Gilbert to follow.

 _Definitely going insane_ , he thought as the bird continued the gesture until he finally obeyed. He grabbed his phone, turning it on as the bird rested on his shoulder. It gestured it's head three times to the right and once down, and it kept repeating this pattern. _Or maybe it's just the bird that's insane… Three right, one down, what the hell is it trying to say?_ It was then he noticed that the third app on the second row was his phone app. He tapped it with his thumb, seeing out of the corner of his eye that the bird had stopped. He sighed, leaning against the wall. Did the bird want him to call somebody?

Then, all of the sudden, he felt the bird peck his arm. "Ah!" he exclaimed, jumping backward. A small red mark appeared. The bird jabbed at his arm another time, causing another mark just left of the last to appear. Even though Gilbert tried to move away, the bird kept pecked his arm until the marks showed to form numbers. He noticed the American exit code for calling someone in another country was on there (as he had to use it many times to call German relatives), along with the dialling code +33.

Knowing the bird would surely peck him again if he didn't, Gilbert called the number that was temporarily imprinted on his arm. Maybe they could tell him what was going on, or tell him just how crazy he was...

* * *

November 9, 2015. Twenty-six years prior, the Berlin Wall that separated east and west fell. Usually, this anniversary would be joyous, but Francis Bonnefoy (a.k.a. France) was not feeling joyous at all. The man it freed, one of his best friends since the War of the Austrian Succession, no longer existed. To say he was dead would be a bit contradictory… countries were strange beings, and just because they no longer existed didn't exactly mean they were _dead_. Unlike dead mortals, "dead" nations could actually come back down to Earth whenever they pleased to interact with other alive nations… for a short period of time. Why Prussia hadn't done that yet, he didn't know.

But it was a beautiful night in France, the country he represented. He was drinking wine on the porch of his home in the outskirts of Paris, trying to keep his focus on the wonderful weather rather than the absence of his albino friend.

Suddenly, his phone rang. He expected it to be his boss, or perhaps even his hotheaded _Angleterre_ , but he didn't recognize the number. It was odd, for the number had an American dialling code. Perhaps it was a wrong number. He shrugged, accepting the call and placing his phone to his ear.

"Bonjour," he greeted, waiting for the recipient respond, but there was a long moment of silence. He furrowed his eyebrows. He was about to hang up when he heard incoherent murmuring.

Suddenly, whoever was on the other side began speaking in understandable words. "That voice… I recognize that voice… You… You're… that…. You're that Frenchman! The one with the long hair from my dream!" they exclaimed, causing Francis to raise his eyebrows. The French nation drew three conclusions: The caller was male, he was _definitely_ American, and he sounded slightly insane.

"I'm sorry, _mon ami_ , but I think you have the wrong number," Francis replied.

"No, I don't!" the man on the other end exclaimed. "Least, I don't think I do... Listen, uh… _French-guy_ , I know you! We… We fought against each other in the Napoleonic Wars! But… we're also friends… It was us and that… that Spanish guy… _Ugh_ , I don't remember! I sound like I'm insane!"

Francis took a sip of his wine. _I would agree with that statement_ , he thought. " _Monsieur_ , I'm certain you have the wrong 'French-guy', so say. I highly doubt we fought against each other in the Napoleonic Wars; they occurred during the eighteenth century!" He chuckled silently to himself after replying. _If only he knew I've been alive since the tenth._

There was a sigh. "Maybe I'm going insane," the caller muttered to himself. Another sigh followed. "Look, French-guy, I just had this weird dream last night... I was dressed up in like, Revolutionary War-type clothes and I was fighting this Frenchman who I called France for some reason, and I sounded _German_! Then there was this scene with a little boy who called me _bruder_... Blue eyes, blonde hair, German... Then, oddly enough, next there was this graveyard, almost, with a cross wedged in the ground. The Frenchman from earlier was there, along with a Spanish guy... and that _damn bird_..." He paused for a second. "There's been a bird who looks exactly like the one from my dream who's been following me _all damn day_! I don't know what it means!"

Francis stayed silent for a moment. The dream the man described sounded awfully familiar... Could it be...? _Impossible_ , he thought, _there's no way that this crazed American is Prussia_. "I'm no psychologist, _mon ami_ , but I suggest you see one. Good luck with your... situation, _monsieur_. _Au revoir_!" Francis quickly hung up. _The man's just mentally troubled. There's no possible way that could be Prussia. Such a circumstance would go against what I know about the death of countries…_

"Perhaps I don't know anything at all," he thought aloud, looking out pensively and taking another sip of his wine.

* * *

Gilbert looked at his phone with an absent stare. The voice, the speaking patterns… he recognized it. He was having a weird sensation of déjà vu - which wasn't all that irregular, as it was past mid afternoon and he'd been experiencing it since he'd woken that morning.

The bird chirped, causing Gilbert to snap his head in its direction. "You've known," he muttered. "You know that French guy. You know I have some sort of friendship with him so you pecked his number on my arm. You know what all this means!" At this point, Gilbert was on his feet and slowly advancing towards the bird. It chirped once more, seeming to signify that he was correct. "You know what all this means," he repeated, eying the bird suspiciously. He sighed, pinching the the bridge of his nose. "And… I'm talking to a bird."

 _I think I've officially gone insane._


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! I just wanted to notify you that I won't be updating much until New Years. Yeah, I know, long time, but there's a lot of school stuff that needs my attention first. (Mainly choir and band).  
** **Also, this chapter is short and kind of a filler... kind of ;) I'll leave it up to you to decide whether or not it's important.**

 **~Emily Believes**

* * *

 _That night, Gilbert once more found himself in a state where he was almost lucid dreaming. The scene contained a field with many long, metal buildings surrounded by a large, barbed wire fence. He, along with a man who looked like a grown version of the little boy from his previous dream, strode into the horrid scene of a concentration camp from World War II._

 _They passed many workers, ranging from ages as old as eighty to as young as eight. To say every last worker looked extremely disheveled and unhealthily underweight would be an understatement. Gilbert tried not to look as he followed the other man to an officer who stood in the middle of camp._

 _The officer eyed Gilbert almost harshly, as if he should be working in this death camp too. "Got a reason for bringing this freak of nature with you, Ludwig?" he asked the other man in an almost amused tone._

 _Anger suddenly filled the atmosphere of the dream. Gilbert tried to run up to the officer, wanting to yell, "Now listen here, you piece of shit!" but Ludwig held him back. He was unsurprisingly very strong. "This is my_ bruder _, Gilbert. Adolf Hitler sent_ both _of us here to evaluate this camp. This 'freak of nature' has the ability to strip you of your job and force you to work in this very camp. Understand?" Ludwig spoke with a deep voice and rather intimidating tone._

 _The officer nodded, eyes wide with fear. "Yes, sir," he replied, allowing both of them to go on with their evaluation._

 _Once out of earshot, Gilbert heard his dream self emit a strange "Kesesesese~" noise, which he assumed was supposed to be a laugh. "Who knew you could be so-" he started to say, but he stopped himself in his tracks when he heard the agonizing scream of men. His face immediately twisted into a concerned frown, panicked almost, and he turned to his brother to see that the ongoing cries didn't seem to phase him._

" _No one told me this happened," he said seriously, pointing in the direction of excruciating noise, the sounds of torture. The sounds of death._

 _Ludwig simply sighed, only saying two words: "Boss's orders."_

Gilbert woke with a start, somewhat thankful that he was in his bedroom and not at that horrible place. The screams of pain and terror were still etched in his brain, seemingly echoing. Somehow, he found himself feeling immense guilt, as if he had caused them the suffering.

He placed his hand to his left temple, trying to gather his thoughts and memories from the past twenty-four hours. Maybe yesterday was apart of the dream as well; maybe it was still Friday. He didn't even have to check his phone for the hope to be shattered, for only a few mere minutes after awakening he heard a chirp from that damned bird.

"Oh, great," Gilbert said sarcastically, " _You're_ still here." Usually, he would've gone back to sleep, as it was Saturday (and not Friday, to his dismay), but with the sound of kitchen appliances downstairs as well as the bird continuously chirping in his ear, sleep was rather difficult. Thus, he decided to get out of bed.

He went downstairs and straight into the kitchen, his trying to grasp the strange visions and dreams he was having. When he entered, however, he noticed his mother was still cooking. And when she cooked, there was hardly anything that could take her attention off such. That's why when Gilbert spotted her phone, he didn't even think twice about swiftly swiping it from the counter. He needed answers and he needed them now.

So, who better to call than Mr. Petterson? He knew his mother practically had him on speed dial, given the amount of times he'd gotten detention, and he was a history teacher, therefore he had to know something. After a few moments, he got into her phone and went to recent her calls, seeing Matthew Petterson as the first contact. He called the teacher, stepping into the living room while doing so. Abigail was still oblivious.

After a few moments, he heard an all too familiar voice answer, "Hello?"

"Yeah, hello Mr. Petterson, I have a few quest-" Gilbert started, but was cut off.

"Gilbert? Is that you? Does you mother know you're using her phone?"

"Yeah, sure, let's go with that… as I was saying, I have a few questions... I need them for, uh, extra credit?"

"In what class, Gilbert?" The unconvinced tone in his voice was enough to make the teenager cringe.

"Not important," he said hastily. Before Mr. Petterson had the chance to reply, he asked, "How can someone live through the eighteenth century?" It was the first question that came to mind, and definitely the one he had been wondering about the most.

Mr. Petterson let out a small chuckle. "You do know I meant that as simile, correct Gilbert?"

"I know, but… hypothetically speaking."

There a pause, which Gilbert assumed was his teacher thinking, before the answer followed. "Luckily for you, I was a philosophy minor in college. Though nothing's been proven for sure, there has been much speculation about the ideas of time travel, immortality, and reincarnation. There's this one interesting case about immortality, for ever since about, oh I'd say the twelfth or thirteenth century in France, many citizens claimed to see this tall man with shoulder length blonde hair. They said he looked the same for ages, and he's still alive today!"

"The Frenchman…" Gilbert muttered under his breath.

"But I digress… I guess the only true way to live through the eighteenth century and still be alive today would be through some sort of immortality. Time travel is just simply going to or from the time frame and reincarnation is the soul from such time period being put into another being as it's coming into the world. Does that answer your question Gilbert?"

 _Technically_ , the boy thought bitterly. "Yeah, but I have a few more… Is it, well… _common_ … for people to name their kids after countries?" This, of course, was referring to how his dream self called the mysterious Frenchman by his native nation's name, France.

"Well, there is certainly a trend for people naming their children after places, including countries. Common ones are Paris, a city; Asia, a continent; and China, a country," his teacher answered. He made a small _tsk_ sound before going on to ask, "Gilbert, have you heard about the anthropomorphic personification hypothesis?" He asked it in such a tone that Gilbert felt like he _should_ know it.

"The _what_?"

"I'll take that as a 'no'. The hypothesis takes evidence, such as the continued sightings of the man in France, and makes the claim that all countries, nations, and micronations have an anthropomorphic personification; essentially, a human form. It can be assumed that they are wounded when the country they represent has been attacked, or at least the military. And it can also be assumed that the country dies whenever the country ceases to exist. For example, the nation of Prussia that we talked about in discussing the Napoleonic Wars doesn't exist anymore, so if the hypothesis is correct, then that means the personification of Prussia would've died when the country was dissolved in 1947."

Gilbert stayed silent for a second. The idea seemed very familiar, _extremely_ familiar. It was on the tip of his tongue, and it bothered him to no end that he couldn't tell what it was… but suddenly, something clicked in his mind. Like a light bulb going off. It sounded completely insane (like many things did that happened yesterday), but at the same time, it was the most logical explanation to what was going on.

"Mr. Petterson… is it possible for an anthropomorphic personification to be reincarnated as a human?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey-o! I decided to write a new chapter because I'm procrastinating on my actual responsibilities.  
Also: there's a bit of German in this chapter, which I used Google Translate to find out (because I'm an American). So while there's translations at the end of the chapter, I can't promise that it's 100% accurate.  
Thanks for all of your lovely reviews! :D**

 **~Emily Believes**

* * *

There was silence on the other end. It was a rather peculiar question, if a human-like representation of something could die and then be reincarnated as a normal human. "There's nothing saying that they couldn't, if both the idea of reincarnation and the anthropomorphic personification hypothesis hold true. But, alas, it's not my job to figure that out. I'm only a history teacher. Just remember, Gilbert, 'The greatest and noblest pleasure which we have in this world is to discover new truths, and the next is to shake off old prejudices.' That may be useful if you're looking for a more solid answer," said Mr. Petterson as if he was giving a lecture.

Gilbert was about to ask yet another question before his mother suddenly took her phone out of his hand. She shot him a disapproving look before saying, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Petterson. Yes, Gilbert stole my phone. Him, calling you to ask philosophical questions? I swear, his sudden interest in anything other than video games is shocking…" Abigail returned to the kitchen, where the proceeded to make breakfast.

Gilbert stood there in silence for a moment, blankly staring into space, thinking. _Okay, what was that thing he was talking about… the anthropomorphic personification hypothesis?_ He was surprised he could remember the long name. _Maybe that has some explanation for what's going on…_

He quickly rushed up to his room, not even bothering to close the door. He grabbed his laptop from his unbelievably messy desk and jumped onto his bed, hastily opening it and turning it on. He typed in his password and went to Google Chrome. He typed in the words 'the anthropomorphic personification hypothesis', pressing enter afterwards.

He clicked on the first website that showed, 'Anthromaniacs.' He gazed in amazement at the details of the site, seeing the flags of many nations, standing and fallen. At the top of the page was a couple of paragraphs.

 _"Though the term anthropomorphic personification may not ring a bell, I'm certain you may have heard names like Mother Nature and Father Time. They are fictional anthropomorphic personifications - human forms - of nature and time, often used to help children understand the two confusing concepts. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that they are not the topic of this theory. No, this time, I'm going to talk about the potential personifications of countries._

 _There's a lot of guesswork that goes into this theory (or, hypothesis, rather), making it not very plausible, but it's still fun to think about. First and foremost, the anthropomorphic personification hypothesis states that every nation, country, and/or micronation has a human form. Where these personifications come from is still a mystery, but it can be assumed that they appear as soon as the nation, or whatever preceded such, does. And with that, it can also be assumed that they disappear when their country ceases to exist. They also appear to age as their country progresses. Below are the list of the potential nations sighted over the years."_

He began to look through the list of countries, and the more he scrolled through the list, the more familiar the potential nations became. He saw the Frenchman - France, who often socialized with his citizen under the alias Francis Bonnefoy. He also saw Ludwig, the man from his dream last night (who represented Germany) with another man that had auburn hair with a single curl that stuck out. Apparently the latter represented North Italy.

He scrolled through a few more personifications before finding one that made him freeze. The picture shown on the website… The man had silver white hair, very pale skin, and red eyes… The man looked exactly like him!

He read what the website had to say about the nation of Prussia.

 _"From the twelfth century onward, people in Central Europe reported seeing an albino boy, teen, or man with striking red eyes. Especially when Prussia became more of an established state, people tried to burn him at the stake or drown him, thinking he was a demon, but it was always recorded that he never died. This man was seen well after the dissolution of the Kingdom of Prussia in 1947, up until 1998. He is presumed dead."_

Gilbert suddenly felt a sudden surge of self identity, a sudden rush of memories that was almost overwhelming.

" _Kesesese~" he heard himself laugh, unexpectedly getting plunged into a memory. It was like he was dreaming. "I… I can't believe you proposed to him!" He was laughing so hard that he was close to tears. He slapped his hand onto his younger brother's shoulder, partly to comfort him but mostly to keep himself from doubling over._

 _Germany, his brother, a nation, flushed in embarrassment and put his face in his hands. It took a while for Prussia - himself - to calm down, but once he did, he pulled out a chair and sat next to Germany. "Look, West, this is Italy we're talking about. You hang out with him a lot; you're practically his best friend, just explain the misunderstanding. He's pretty clueless, in case you haven't noticed… He didn't know what the roses meant."_

 _"I had a flashback," Germany spoke finally, lifting his head. "I think, at least…" Prussia leaned forward, resting his chin on clasped hands. "There was… this girl. She was in a field of flowers. I - I think - had handed her a flower as she continued to gather more… Then it just... stopped."_

 _A grin spread on Prussia's face. "Ah, West," he said, standing up. "That's a story for another day."_

 _The scene then changed from a cozy kitchen to a land that was barren and cold. In nearly all directions all he could see was snow, hopeless snow… He shivered as he approached a wall. He frowned, placing a gloved hand on the wall, longing for what was on the other side. His brother, his friends… But instead, he was on the other side of the Berlin Wall, being forced to live in East Berlin, constantly being monitored and visited by Russia._

 _It was lonely to say the least. Sure, he knew a lot of nations who were apart of the Soviet Union, but unfortunately even talking to Poland was beginning to just cause him more sorrow, and Prussia thought Poland was a pretty fun guy (if not somewhat strange)._

 _Years seemed to pass, suddenly showing a crowd of people by the Berlin Wall, Prussia being one of those in the front. He was smiling wide, for he knew today was history. After twenty-eight years of being stuck behind the damned wall… twenty-eight years of being separated from his family and friends… the Berlin Wall was finally falling._

 _He saw countless men trying to rid of a large chunk of the wall, the victorious screams of East and West Berliners alike seemingly echoing when chunks were picked out on both sides._

 _"Gilbert!" he heard someone exclaim, the voice belonging to someone he hadn't seen in years. "_ Bruder! _"_

 _Prussia turned to see Germany, standing atop the wall. He too was widely smiling, his hand outstretched to anyone who wanted to return to the west before the others had managed to remove a portion of it. But he knew there was once person that he wanted more than anything to reunite with._

 _Prussia clumsily grabbed his brother's hand, suddenly feeling the ground beneath his feat disappear as he was pulled up. And as fate would have it, the portion of the wall that the Berliners were trying so desperately to remove had finally fell, just as Germany pulled Prussia into a warming brotherly embrace._

 _"_ Nie verlassen meine seite wieder, bruder _," the younger of the two spoke softly._

 _Prussia's face automatically fell, but there was no way Germany could notice. He was a much newer country. He was ignorant to the matter. He didn't know what would happen once east and west reunited once more. "_ Nie _," he replied, his voice almost catching in his throat._

 _The scene then changed for a final time, showing the German's house once more, but this time it was a much more unpleasant experience. Germany had noticeable tears rushing down his cheeks as he stared at the nation in front of him… er, ex-nation._

 _Prussia was growing more transparent by the second. It had started that morning and only grew worse as the day went on. His face was also tear-stained… "I'm really dying, aren't I?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else. There was a bird that was flying next to him, seemingly chirping his denial. "I know, Gilbird… I thought I would conquer for a lifetime. But I guess I'm just too awesome for this world, huh?" He smiled weakly, but that only saddened his companion more._

 _The Prussian turned to Germany, who watched in horrified silence. He had never seen the albino so solemn and grim. "You're an awesome country, bruder. You're going to be just fine without me," Prussia said in attempt to reassure him. "I'm going to be fine. Everything will be fine."_

 _"_ Nein! _" Germany exclaimed in his native language. "_ Nein, nein, nein! Sie kann nicht verlassen! I kann nicht verlieren sie… _"_

 _Prussia sighed. "Things happen,_ bruder _. I knew after World War II my death was inevitable." He felt himself fading into non-existence. His time was limited. He took a deep breath. "You're so strong, Ludwig. I knew from the moment I first saw you that you would be. You've been the best little_ bruder _anyone could ask for, even if I wasn't always the best big_ bruder _." He faintly smiled. "Stay awesome."_

 _Then the memory faded._

Gilbert stood in stunned silence, blinking a few times before regaining his composure. A grin crept its way to his face. "Kesesesese~ Not even death can stop the awesome me!" he said, looking over at that damned bird - that damned Gilbird - who gave a happy chirp and rested on his head.

* * *

 **TRANSLATIONS:**

 **Nie verlassen meine seite wieder, bruder -** Never leave my side again, brother

 **Nie -** Never

 **Nein -** No

 **Sie kann nicht verlassen! I kann nicht verlieren sie -** You can't leave! I can't lose you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey! Sorry for taking so long to update - I've recently become reobsessed with Gravity Falls (especially Reverse!Falls, for those of you who care), so that fandom has taken up a lot of my time. (That's also the reason I added "slow updates" to the description; I tend to change fandoms a lot.) But, nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**  
 **Happy Holidays everyone! :D**

 **~Emily Believes**

* * *

Gilbert, or Prussia rather, was ecstatic. He'd spent decades up in Heaven, meeting and goofing off with ancient nations and destroyed empires, but that got old quickly. Finally being back on Earth gave him a rush of happiness. He could go back home; he could see his friends and family, something that he longed to do for ages..

His face suddenly fell, all sense of joy draining from his body. A heart wrenching thought had wormed into his mind. _I died_ , he thought dryly. _Everyone thinks I'm dead._ He stared blankly ahead before slowly turning to face his phone, remembering the conversation with France he had the day before. _Of course!_

Gilbert quickly grabbed the cellphone, dialling France's number again. He got off the bed and began to pace the room impatiently, hearing ringing that only grew more annoying by the second. It suddenly stopped, and Gilbert hoped that he had finally answered, but unfortunately…

"Bonjour _! This is Francis Bonnefoy. If you have message, leave it after the tone,_ mon ami _."_

Gilbert groaned. "France, you ass, it's Prussia. I have explaining to do, and so do _you_." He frustratingly ended the call. Running his hand through his pigmentless hair, he tried to think of some other way to notify the nations of his return - someone else to call.

Suddenly, a light bulb was lit in his mind. He dialed his younger brother Germany's number in hopes he would answer. He heard the same constant ringing and was met once more with a voicemail.

He tried calling Spain; no answer, the call went straight to voicemail.

He tried calling Hungary; no answer, the call went straight to voicemail.

He tried calling Italy; no answer, the call went straight to voicemail.

Hell, he even tried to call _Austria_ , but the call ended in the same way. It went straight to voicemail.

"Where the hell is everyone?!" Prussia exclaimed angrily at his phone. Were they just not answering because of his American phone number? He couldn't figure it out.

In one last desperate attempt to get an answer out of someone, he called someone he nearly slapped himself for forgetting. He called a man named Matthew Williams, better known as Canada. Better known as his boyfriend… at least, they used to be.

When the bothersome ringing abruptly stopped, Prussia perked up. "Hello?" he heard a quiet voice answer, though it was louder than he'd ever heard it before. Prussia's heart suddenly started beating rapidly in his chest… He answered; he actually answered.

"C-Canada," Prussia managed to sputter, trying to regain his composure. He didn't know what to say now that someone had actually answered him, his old boyfriend nonetheless. "Canada, that _is_ you, right?"

There was a short, uneasy silence before the Canadian replied, "W-Why are you calling me by my country's name? My name is Matthew. C-Can you please tell me what you need to say? I'm running late for a meeting and if I don't leave soon I'm going to miss my flight to America!"

 _Flight for America?_ Prussia thought, hearing the Canadian shuffle around in attempt to get ready in time. "Of course! A world meeting!" Prussia thought aloud, piecing together one and two. He hung up on Canada (who was already confused), and hurried to put on the nicest pair of clothes he could find. If he couldn't get a hold of them by phone, he would just show them that he was alive in person!

As he rushed downstairs, Gilbird flying not far behind him, he went to his contacts, looking for his best friend's (his _human_ best friend's) contact. Since he was preoccupied with his phone and his thoughts, he didn't see his mother standing at the bottom of the staircase, right in his path…

"Gah!" he exclaimed as he bumped into his rather annoyed mother. Seeing her irritated facial expression reminded him how Germany used to make that exact same face when he did something - according to his brother's definition - stupid. But there was something about her almost menacing glare that made him cower slightly.

"I called for you about ten times for breakfast and you didn't come down! I was about to go and get you myself when I see you rush down here, nicely dressed-" Abigail paused abruptly, looking up and down the reincarnated nation. A smile soon replaced her stern frown. "Oh, I didn't think this day would come!" she exclaimed happily. Prussia raised an eyebrow. _What is she talking about?_ "I didn't think you'd get a date until after you graduated! Don't worry, I won't keep you any longer!" She ran into the kitchen, and just as quick as she ran into the kitchen, she ran out, holding a pair of car keys, which she shoved into his hands.

"Go on, then! Have a fun time!" Abigail pressed. Deciding to go along with the date excuse, Prussia nodded and headed towards the door. Just as he opened it, Abigail added, "Oh, and bring her home afterwards! I want to meet her!"

Prussia let out a chuckle at that, thinking about how this woman (who was apparently his mother, but it felt weird to call her that) would react if he brought home the quiet Matthew Williams instead of her dream girl. "Will do! I'm sure _he'll_ be delighted to meet you!" he said, and then exited the house just before he could see Abigail's face fall back into a frown.

He then turned on his phone once more, looking through the contacts until he found Alex Johnson. He pressed the call button, and heard the same annoying ringing as he lifted his phone up to his ear.

"What's up, Gil?" he heard Alex greet when he finally picked up.

"Get dressed in the nicest pair of clothes you own. I'll be at your house in like, ten minutes. We're going to New York."

* * *

"Remind me again why we're going all the way to New York?" Alex said after Prussia drove past the last toll booth on the way to their destination. He was wearing an outfit similar to Prussia's: a white dress shirt, black slacks, sneakers, and a tie.

"We're going to this big conference building; they're holding a meeting there that… I'm late to," Prussia explained as discreetly as possible. _Ha, two decades late,_ Prussia thought, internally amused.

"You, going to a meeting in New York? Like, a legit meeting?" Alex repeated, raising an eyebrow. He crossed his arms. "Doubtful."

Prussia sighed. There was only (roughly) five minutes left until they reached the conference building. "Look, just trust me on this, okay? I need you here in case something goes wrong."

This time, Prussia fretted the worst. Though he was fairly certain that they would recognize someone as awesome as himself, after the phone call with Canada there was a lingering doubt in his mind that they wouldn't. And he had no clue what would happen if they didn't recognize him, or didn't believe that we was back. He looked practically the same, only he knew that he probably looked a bit younger than he did when he was actually a nation, lacking the scars he'd gained from centuries of warfare. There was also the issue of his accent. He sounded more like America than he did himself, and every time he spoke it was like the young nation was always speaking over him, saying exactly was he was saying. But speaking in a German accent when his current natural one was American would grow tiresome. The only thing he had to rely on was his newly rediscovered memories, and that alone was enough to convince them, right?

...Right?

Prussia pulled up to the conference building that was strategically placed near the outskirts of the city. Parking the car, he opened the door to exit the vehicle, Alex mimicking his actions. "Alright… I haven't been to this place in a while; I'm not sure if they'll remember me. Just follow the awesome me!" Prussia said, regaining confidence about confronting nations he hadn't seen in nearly two decades. (Granted, that was practically a second to countries, but with the lack of immortality he was now burdened with, everything seemed to drag on forever.)

Alex rolled his eyes. "If you say so, Mr. 'Awesome'," he said, using air quotations around the word "awesome."

The two walked into the large business building, standing out slightly among the much older men and women. Most seemed to be getting through security easily, as all they had to do was say their name and the meeting they were attending, but Prussia knew he was going to pull a few strings to get in. He walked up to one of the security guards, who eyed him strangely. "I think you two have the wrong building," the guard said after giving two teenagers a glance.

"Last time I checked, we're supposed to be here. Gilbert Beilschmidt and Antonio Carriedo. We're here for the meeting of the nations," Prussia said, his accent sounding just like it did before he died, though this was a conscious effort. He knew trying to get Alex in as Spain was a bit of a stretch, considering (appearance-wise) Spain was twenty-five whilst Alex was seventeen, but it was worth a shot.

The guard lazily skimmed the list for said meeting. He pointed at Alex and said, "You can go on ahead. Last room on the right, fourteenth floor. But you-" he pointed to Prussia "-you're name's not on the list."

Alex went ahead, not even bothering to follow the guard's instructions, but instead started snooping around all the other meetings, leaving Prussia to deal with the predicted situation he was in. "I'm sure it's on the one from 1992," the albino said.

The guard laughed to himself at the reply. "1992? Kid, you look like you're still in highschool!" he said in between fits of stifled laughter.

"Check the list," Prussia repeated sternly. _Mein Gott, I sound like West._

Still amused, the guard obeyed. He went over to the computer a few feet away, clicking a few times before his face fell. Prussia saw it: his human name right before his younger brother's. With that, he said, "Kesesese~! I believe I have a meeting to get to," to the puzzled guard, who was too busy trying to figure out how his name got there in the first place to notice the comment.

"Last room on the right, fourteenth floor," he repeated to himself as he got into an elevator. The meeting, he knew from prior experiences, didn't start for another forty or so minutes, but majority of the nations would already be there.

 _Ding_. The elevator doors opened. He walked out and turned right, continuing that direction until he reached the end of the hall. Immediately Prussia knew this was the right room, hearing the commotion that he was surprised couldn't be heard from farther away.

He took a deep breath. _It's now or never…_ Slowly, he opened the door to the conference room, and all the noise abruptly stopped.


	6. Chapter 6

**PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE!  
Heyyy... so I was originally going to post this and pretend like I didn't not update for three months, but then I decided against it and thought you all deserved some sort of explanation:  
Shit has been shitty. Just emotionally. Puberty sucks and I'm a very stress-prone, anxious perfectionist who procrastinates. That's not the best combination of traits. Let's just say that I've had a fair amount of anxiety attacks and breakdowns within the last few months. Also: Undertale. (If you couldn't tell by my oneshot and fanfic that are currently up about it, I've let that occupy my time.) But recently my friend and I have been planning to cosplay as Fem!Canada and Fem!Prussia at a nerd event at the end this year so I've been getting back into the swing of Hetalia.  
AND THERE'S AN ENTIRE SIXTH SEASON THAT I DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO CATCH UP ON. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LEAVE FANDOMS MAN.  
If you need to reread a bit, please do so now, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! You will notice that the first part is actually in Germany's POV (and by his POV I mean that it's still 3rd person but it's focused on him) and it switches back to Prussia in the second part.  
Reviews are appreciated xx (also sorry for the ridiculously long author's note).**

 **~Emily Believes**

* * *

No one spoke. No one moved. It was strange, eerie. When they gathered, there was always some sort of noise, and that noise was usually loud bickering. But when the doors slammed open, when… when _he_ was in the doorway… everyone froze. Impossible… He was dead! He was dead and Ludwig knew it! He watched him dissolve all those years ago. The memories started flooding back.

No. No, this couldn't be right. That had to be an imposter. The nation of Prussia was dissolved. East and West Germany had reunited. Gilbert was _dead_.

The albino stepped into a room, a bird perched on his shoulder. He seemed shocked, too. He gazed around the room, a grin soon creeping its way onto his face. The teenager looked almost hysterical, too giddy to contain his own joy, too happy to speak any words, almost as if he was seeing old friends for the first time in a while.

It didn't add up. Ludwig could recognize that bird from a mile away. It was his brother's. How did this man, this imposter… how did they get their hands on the bird? And why was the bird always so content with him?

"Ve~! Germany! Germany, Look! It's your big brother, Prussia!" an energetic, copper-haired Italian spoke, breaking an eerie silence. Nervous glances were sent around the room. Francis and Arthur shared worried looks as Ludwig gave a sigh. Feliciano never could read the atmosphere, could he? "Can you believe it, Germany? He came back! It's a miracle!"

Ludwig just started at the albino man as the Italian nation babbled on and on until Kiku finally managed to get him to shut up (thankfully). But as he stopped talking, other muttering arose.

"I can't believe it! It's really Prussia, isn't it?"

"Hungary, you can't truly be excited he's back, can you? Besides, we're not even sure that's him. He looks too young to be Prussia."

"Why can't it be Prussia? America still looks like he's a teenager!"

"But Prussia didn't. He looked looked a year or so younger than me, _mon ami_. Prussia is… _was_ a far older nation than America."

"Dudes, are you talking about me?!"

"West," said a soft voice, though louder than the murmurings of the other nations. Everyone stopped once again and turned to the albino. It most certainly came from him, but… if it really was Prussia, then why was he speaking in an American accent? The man was staring at Ludwig with caring red eyes.

Ludwig remembered them, if vaguely, from when he was younger. Prussia used to give him that exact same look every time he was hurt from battle. But… this wasn't Prussia. It _couldn't_ be. _Prussia was dead;_ he's _been_ dead for a long time, and every time he looked at the man, the more he was certain that notion was true.

"West, it's me," said the man, slowly showing the confident (if not somewhat narcissistic) composure his brother used to carry. "You're awesome big brother, Prussia!" He was still grinning like an idiot for a second, before the smile eventually faded when Ludwig gave him no reaction. "C'mon, West, don't you reme-"

"Stop calling me that," Ludwig finally said, causing the albino as well as others in the room to frown.

"But West-"

" _You are not fit to call me that name_ ," he said more firmly, tears threatening to prick at his eyes. This had to be a joke… a sick, sick joke… "My brother has been dead for years! You can't just come in here and pretend to be him! Get out of this conference room! Get out of here _now_ before I call security!" Ludwig bellowed.

Gilbert stepped back slightly, hurt visible on his face. "West, you've got to listen to me! I really am your big brother! How else would I know-"

"My brother did not have an American accent."

"Listen, West, if you would just let me explain-"

"I don't want your petty explanation!" Ludwig was reaching his limit, his face flustered with anger and his eyes brimming with tears. The nerve this guy had… Prussia was dead. That wasn't him. That couldn't be him. Prussia was dead. Gilbert was _dead_. "I want you out before I have to force you out."

"Ludwig, I-"

The man was cut off by the doors to the conference room opening; everyone's head turned in that direction. Antonio and Lovino entered the room, Lovino looking peeved as usual and Antonio having a typical smile on his face. "Hola, amigos!" Antonio greeted, completely oblivious to the new (or old, rather) face in the room. "There was a 'mix up' when we were entering the building."

"Some bastards thought they could sneak in as the tomato bastard and his good for nothing dead friend," Lovino hastily added, taking his seat around the large conference table. Antonio sat beside him, finally grasping hold of what was happening. His eyebrows furrowed, and he muttered a small, "Gil?" as Lovino scowled, beginning to complain about how they let the trespasser in the room.

Following the two Europeans in the room were two security guards. The albino man looked panicked, though not as panicked as Ludwig expected him to be. He almost looked slightly annoyed too, and as he muttered, " _Scheiß_ ," under his breath, Ludwig noticed that it sounded more frustrated than nervous. That added to the fact that he pronounced the German word correctly like it naturally rolled off his tongue…

"Sir, you're going to have to come with us," one of the guards, bulkier and darker complexed than his partner, said steely.

The albino seemed to ignore the guards completely after their initial entrance, however. He just turned back to the nations, his expression looking much more desperate and full of angst. "Please," he whispered, very out of character for the man he was posing to be. It was just loud enough for most of the table to hear. "Guys, you've got to believe me. I can tell you anything you need to know that would make you believe me! France, Spain, we fought against that stupid sissy Austria in the War of the Austrian Succession-!" Francis and Antonio glanced at each other.

"I-I'm _not_ a sissy!"

"-and… and…" He paused in hesitation. The guards were trying to grab his attention, nearing towards him. He knew what was going to happen. They were going to drag him out by force. "West!" he said, looking over at Ludwig, who was unpleased to hear him say the name. "West, you've got to… you've got to remember the day I found you on that battlefield, wearing that weird black hat and cape thing. You were injured during… the Battle of Austerlitz…? God, that was so long ago… But all that was because France! And I… I-"

" _Sir_ , this is your last chance to leave now before we have to take you out of this room ourselves!" exclaimed the second guard to the man, but they were ignored just as all the other messages were.

"You asked me what your name was," he said, his voice heavily reminiscent. "You didn't know. You couldn't remember anything. Not the Empire that was built, not the battles you fought, not even little It-" He cut himself off, glancing over at the energetic Italian nation before looking back over at Ludwig. "But I told you it was Germany, after Grandpa Germania. And you lived with the awesome me until you could finally bring all these territories or whatever together and make a somewhat stable country! Eh, give or take some things… A-And then after World War Two-! -when the Berlin Wall was built! I wasn't 'Prussia' anymore. I was 'East Germany.' You were 'West Germany.' So that's why I've been calling you We-"

He suddenly stopped as the guards subdued him enough to grab hold of his arms and drag him out of the room. Ludwig stared at the closed doors, not sure what to think. Thoughts cluttered his mind. Accent and age aside, all that information was true. Not just anyone could know that. Could it actually be…?

* * *

Gilbert was thrown out of the building, being told sternly to not return by security. He brushed himself off to find Alex waiting by his mother's car. He hardly had the chance to explain. His brother didn't believe him, all of his friends looked unsure… If Alex hadn't gotten caught that fast, they'd all be showering him in long overdue greetings! "Dude, you look _pissed_ ," was the first thing the brunette said upon seeing his friend walk towards him.

"Get in the car," Prussia grumbled, annoyed. As a nation he never felt this bothered by anything, even when faced with the betrayal of his friends in battle all those years ago. Maybe it was just the fact that he was actually a human now… He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Both boys got in the car. For the first portion of the ride back, they were sat in silence, an awkward, drawn out silence. "Gil, come on, you _hate_ the quiet. Whatever happened back there isn't that important-" Alex started, but was interrupted by Gilbert,

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do! Because we're talking about _you_! And I know _you_ better than anyone!"

"Not this- not who I- _no_." Gilbert finally snapped, whatever common sense and patience he held onto being drained within that last sentence. "I'm not who you think I am, okay? Not anymore! I've seen a lot more things than you have, the best and worst of humanity over the course of _centuries_. I've seen more blood and gore in war than those stupid history books care to describe. My own friends have tried to _kill_ me and I've tried to kill them!" Alex was staring at his friend with a scared expression, disbelief written all over his face, but Gilbert didn't care. He was looking at the road. "I've seen humans that I grew to like grow old and _die_ multiple times. My brother's boss used to be that hellish asshole with a stupid mustache that killed millions of people! Yeah, I had to _work_ for that guy! I've been alive since the eleven hundreds and you think you _know_ me?!"

More silence. Alex was trying to form words, but nothing would come out of his mouth. He just couldn't articulate his thoughts well, especially after that hysterical outburst. After seemingly endless minutes of awkward sounds, he managed to get out, "Sorry, dude, b-but that doesn't make any sense. Gil… how could you've been alive since the eleven hundreds? And that part about a brother… You're an only child; you don't have a brother."

Gilbert was _this_ close to making another flare-up, but he let out a long sigh, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "I'm going to sound insane, but you've got to believe me, alright?" he asked slowly. Alex gave a somewhat curt nod in response. "For every country on this planet that ever existed and exists right now, there's a person to represent it. Kind of like a superhuman. We, er, they live until their country doesn't exist anymore, and they can only get hurt if they're injured by another nation in battle. A paper cut heals in minutes. They call each other by their nation name, but sometimes in public they have to call each other by their 'human' name."

Alex widened his eyes. "Woah, really?! Cool! So that means America has one, right? Like, a person for it?"

Gilbert snickered slightly. "Yeah, but he's mostly an annoying jackass… and a much newer nation. He's been around for what, almost two hundred fifty years? He's still practically a child, figuratively and literally… I mean, look at China! He's been here for four thousand years! I was around for at _least_ nine hundred before…" He paused. _What harm could there be? I've already passed the point of no return._ "Okay, so here's the insane part… I used to be one of these superhuman country representation people, or, uh, anthropomorphic personifications. I had the best empire in the entire world once! I represented the greatest country of Prussia! ...Then my country got dissolved by the Allies after World War Two, so I became the Eastern counterpart to my brother, Germany. We were separated by the Berlin Wall, and when it was taken down in 1989… I didn't live very long after that. Next thing I know, I'm in Heaven, yay me, and then I'm back down here living your average American life when I remember all this shit. That's why I've been 'crazy' these past few days."

Another silence. He was just processing the information. "Dude, so I'm best friends with a superhuman guy? That's awesome!" Alex said. Gilbert expected such response; Alex was naive.

"Slightly less awesome actually," Gilbert said disappointedly. "I'm… not exactly 'superhuman' anymore… Reincarnation doesn't save your immortality… That's why we went there, to New York. A world meeting was being held there… and I wanted to show them that I was back. I thought that England or Romania could use their magic or some shit to bring me back to normal, but, uhm… they didn't believe me. They thought I was some weird trespasser imposter."

"...Bummer, dude," Alex said. Gilbert expected him to say more, but he didn't. The rest of the ride was met with the same awkward silence as before.

* * *

When Gilbert finally got home, he didn't want to talk to Abigail, who was bothering him about his 'date' from the minute he walked in the door. He just ignored her as he did the security guards. He wanted to talk to Germany, or France or Spain or Canada or _someone_ that he knew. But this wasn't Germany's house. He wasn't even in Germany, he was in America. But they didn't believe he was him. What was the point?

"Gilbert, please, talk to me," Abigail begged. "If this is about saying you were going out with a girl instead of a guy, I apologize! I didn't know you felt that way and I just assumed-"

"It's not about the 'date!' It's about something you couldn't even begin to understand," he replied as he walked up the stairs. Abigail opened her mouth to respond but then decided against it, simply watching her son walk up the staircase and into his room.

Gilbert plopped down on his bed. Gilbird flew off his shoulder and onto his knee. "Guess it's just you and me again, eh Gilbird?" the albino asked, earning a woeful chirp from his companion. "I'm used to being alone, anyways! Who needs them?! I'll be fine like this!" he said in an attempt to convince himself that those words were true. "Wait, if I'm stuck like this does that mean I'll have to go through America's shitty school system? _Scheiß_!"

He listed similar pros and cons of the situation (there were many, many cons), and just as he was about to pick up his phone to try and call one of the nations again, he heard the doorbell ring. He didn't get up to get it, for he could hear the conversation from downstairs.

"Hello..? I don't believe we've met before," Abigail said.

There was a lot of muffled bickering that sounded familiar before he heard an even more familiar voice with a _French_ accent of all things reply, "Bonjour, _mademoiselle_! If we may skip the formalities, we need to speak with Gilbert Beilschmidt."

* * *

 **TRANSLATIONS:**

 **Scheiß (German) - _Shit_**

 **Mademoiselle (French) - _Miss_**


End file.
